Authors: D. L. Sparks

Tags: #Fiction, #Suspense, #General, #African American Police, #Urban Life, #Thrillers, #African American

Between Friends (7 page)

BOOK: Between Friends

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Chapter Eight

Trip

I slid the plastic key into the door to my rented home and took a deep breath. The suite at the W definitely wasn't my house back in New Orleans, but until this case was complete, it was home for now.

I tossed the files I had in my hand onto the glass coffee table before heading toward the bathroom. I was in desperate need of a hot shower. I opened the glass door and turned the knob. The marble-and-glass room quickly started to fill with steam as I pulled off my clothes. The Velcro from my vest cut into the silence of the room as I tossed it to the floor.

As much as I hated to admit it, my mind was on Idalis. We had historyâa history that no one would understand but us. Hell, she was my first kiss. I smiled at the memory of us hiding under the back steps of her grandmother's house. We were only seven years old. I remember how she tried to act like she wasn't scared, but from the way she was shaking, I could tell she was just as nervous as I was. It was just a peck, but I remember walking away, feeling like I'd just become a man.

I also remembered how Idalis used to help me hide the bruises from the fights with my father with the makeup she would sneak from her mom's room.

“He gon' get his one day, Trip. You just watch,” she would always say as she gently applied the tacky mixture to my bruised skin.

I turned the water on in the fancy sink, bent down, and splashed some water on my face before pulling my locs back in preparation for my shower. I looked up into the mirror. Stared at the man staring back at me. I tried to see past himâdidn't want to see himâbut I couldn't escape him.

It was my father.

I saw him in my hazel eyes, in the hardness of my jaw line. I'd even inherited his long eyelashes. It was his face. I was becoming him.

Everyone always told me that I looked just like him, and I fought hard to reject that my entire life. Always insisting that I looked like my mother. I didn't want to give that asshole credit for anything. He didn't deserve shit but the dirt resting on top of him.

I closed my eyes against the memory, but it hit me like a runaway train.

I was ten years old when I was awakened by my mother's scream. She was cowering in the corner of the bed that rested against the dark wall. My mom, my little sister, and I were all crammed into a twin-sized bed in a small bedroom on the second floor of my grandmother's house. My little sister was huddled with her in the corner. She was clinging to her nightgown, with eyes wide as saucers. I was at the foot of the bed.

I felt my mom's hand on my leg. “It's okay,” she whispered.

All of a sudden my dad's voice came booming through the room. He was screaming at my mother, accusing her of sleeping around. I could tell he was drunk. He smelled of liquor and cigarette smoke. He was probably high off some weed or something, but I wouldn't have known the difference. The screams that escaped my mother's lips were due to the crutch that he was using to beat her.

“I swear to you, I didn't,” she cried, barely above a whisper. She pressed her body closer to the wall. Tried to sink into it. Holding my sister, trying to shield her. I Stayed under the covers. Pulled them farther over my head. I didn't raise my head, only craned my neck enough to see my mother's face. The light from the hallway was falling across the bed; she had a look of terror in her eyes. It was a look I'd seen many times before.

He swung his weapon of choice again, this time catching her on her leg and clipping my foot. I scrambled to the head of the bed, ready to protect my mother with my tiny body. He looked at me and scowled, ready to challenge me as always, but the crutch broke from that last blow. I could hear the wood crack and the pieces hit the hardwood floor.

He threw what was left of the shattered wood to the floor. The crutch was my uncle's. He had had a motorcycle accident and had broken his leg a couple months before. The crutches were still around the house. He turned and walked out of the room. He was mumbling and calling my mother every name but what her mother had given her. I heard the change in his pocket jingling along with the keys in his hand as he stumbled out of the room and down the steps.

My mother looked tired, worn, and much older than her license said. The tears ran down her face as she sobbed in the corner. After hearing the front door slam shut downstairs, my mother slid out of the bed, hobbled on her bruised legs, and padded to the bedroom door. She leaned against the door frame for a second; I guess she was making sure he was really gone.

Her thin nightgown clung to her sweaty body. Her breathing was ragged and fast. She slipped out of the room into the hallway and then down the stairs. I heard the locks click and the chain rattle on the front door as she did everything she could to lock out her attacker. To lock out my father. My mother limped back in the room and crawled into bed. She grimaced out of pain and sucked in air. She stretched out next to my sister and me. And we all lay there until the sun rose pretending to be asleep, and praying he didn't return.

It's amazing how your mother's influence molds you. When you are in the womb, your mother's actions and movements influence your movements and sleep patterns. When you're born, you are trained that daytime is for waking and nighttime is for sleeping. That, too, is by your mother. As you grow, your parents teach you a lot about manners, rules, and how to act in public. But it's the unconscious things they teach you that seem to take hold of you like a pissed-off pit bull that refuses to let go.

I believe that you are taught to be the person you eventually grow up to be by watching your parents. Girls learn how to be a woman by watching their mothers; they also learn what to look for in a husband or a boyfriend by what they are exposed to by their father. Boys learn what to look for in a wife or a girlfriend from their mothers, but more importantly they learn from their fathers
how
to be a man and a father. So, inevitably, if something is wrong with the equation, then a person is involuntarily set up for a life that is way harder than it has to be.

My father taught me an important lesson.

Not just how to be a man, but how to be a better man than him.

The bruises. The black eyes. The trips to my aunt's that always lasted longer than they were supposed to. Everyone wanted to blame the drinking and the drugs, but I refused to give him a cop-out.

He made a choice, and it was the wrong one.

I made up in my mind I was never gonna treat a woman that way. The way I was prepared to protect my mother that nightâas a manâI would always be prepared to protect
.
I guess that's what drove me to the force, and for whatever reason held me on the force.

I was compelled to protect those who couldn't protect themselves.

After my shower I dried off and stretched across the rented bed and tried to will myself to sleep, but my mind wouldn't stop. I checked the clock, and the restaurant downstairs, Savu, was already closed. I got up and got the files off the coffee table and sat down on the couch. I spread the evidence and files out in front of me like puzzle pieces.

I picked up the picture from the latest crime scene. The only thing more disturbing than the scenes themselves was how clean they were. No prints, no trace, nothing. The girl's twisted body lay peacefully. Outside of her throat being slashed, it appeared she was sleeping. I stared at her face, peaceful and beautiful. Guilt washed over me for a moment.

I couldn't protect her.

I placed the picture back inside the folder and dialed my sister.

I could tell I'd woken her up, but I didn't care. “Get up. I can't sleep.”

She yawned. “Ooh! I hate you.” I heard her moving around. “What's up with you?”

“Sitting here, going through these case files.”

“Man, that shit'll give you nightmares,” she said.

She had no idea how true that was. “So how's work?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

“It's work. Dealing with the public ain't easy.”

I chuckled. “Who you telling?”

“We miss having you around. Especially Mama.”

“I know, Trin. But I needed a change.”

“So what made you come to that conclusion? You're all the way over there with no family, and you can't hold down a relationship longer than six months.”

I kept telling myself that she meant well, which was the only thing that was saving her from getting cussed out.

“Just let it go, Trinity.”

“I will, when you answer me this. Was it Pops or Idalis?”

Hearing both of those insinuations was a blow that I wasn't ready for. “It was time for me to move on. That's all.”

“Come on, Trip, this is me. I was there, remember? And I know how you felt when Idalis got engaged too.”

I reached up and pulled the tie out of my locs and leaned back on the couch. She was right. Through it all, Trinity had been there for me. She had been there through all the fights that I had with my dadâboth the verbal and physical sparring, all in the name of protecting her and my mother.

Even when I went to college, and swore I'd never come back to that house as long as he was there, she made sure to come by the dorm and keep me updated on what was going on in the house. The older Dad got, the less violent he became physically, but that hadn't stopped the verbal abuse, which he still inflicted on them. The fact that my mother had refused to leave him left a bitter taste in my mouth, and it wasn't something that I could let go of, just like that.

“You know there was nothing you could've done, right? That's how their generation is Trip. They stand true to that âdeath do us part'.”

“I know.”

“So why are you punishing yourself and for that matter everyone around you?”

I sighed. “I'm not, Trin. Damn, would you stop trying to fix me.”

“Trip, Pops checked out of our lives long before he died, and you've been plugging that hole with the wrong things. You gotta let go of your anger. Because at the end of the dayâin spite of himâwe both made it. You made it. It's like you're still trying to prove something to him.”

“No, I'm not.”

“Then move back. Mama needs you. I miss you.”

I rubbed my temple. “Can we talk about this after I close this case?”

She let out a hard sigh. “Whatever. Bye.”

Just like that, she hung up on me.

I shook my head and thought about calling her back, then decided against it. My phone lit up again, and this time it was Phil.

“What's up?”

“They just sent some agents over to Perry Homes, off Odessa Street.”

“Do we need to ride out?”

“No, Lenny called. He said they found two more dealers taken out, execution style.”

I leaned back on the couch and stared at the ceiling. “Wow.”

“Shit, I know. Said the place was tossed and their stash was taken.”

I let out a sigh. “A'ight, I'm about to jump into the shower. I'll get at you in the morning.”

I disconnected the call and tossed my phone onto the couch next to me.

We finally had the chance to catch up on some sleep.

But I had a feeling I wasn't going to get much of it tonight.

Chapter Nine

Idalis

Sunday afternoon I made my way to my mother's with Cameron. I was meeting India and Dionne at a bridal shop, off Howell Mill Road, for our fitting. My mother had agreed to watch him for me.

Once I made it to my mom's, I gave her a quick hug and kiss, then made my way upstairs to talk to Grammie. Mama told me she was doing much better and had even been getting out of bed and moving around. When I got to her room, she was sitting and knitting.

“Hey, Grammie.”

“Hi, baby.”

I hugged her. Part of meâthe scared little girlâdidn't want to let go. I wanted to crawl into her lap and let her convince me that everything would be okay. Instead, I just sank down onto her bed.

“Mama told me you were feeling much better,” I said.

She smiled and nodded. “Yes, I am,” she answered. “How about you?”

I took a deep breath. “I'm doing okay. Things are changing so fast. It's overwhelming; sometimes I don't think I can handle it.”

“Yes, you can, baby.”

I took in a deep breath and let it out. “Grammie I'm thinking about pushing back the wedding for a little while.”

She asked, “Do you think that's best?”

All I could do was nod. I didn't dare tell her that Linc pretty much told me that date was staying the same no matter what I said.

I heard her lay her knitting down on the small table next to her chair; she motioned for me to come to her. Like a little child I slid to the floor and rested my head in her lap. She began stroking my hair, and tears escaped from my eyes. I quickly wiped them away in a weak attempt to hide them from her.

“You listen to me, baby. You owe it to that baby and yourself to make the best life possible for yourselves. He didn't ask to come here. Don't you think it's unfair to try to raise him in the midst of a bunch of foolishness?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

My heart broke in two. Just the thought of her worrying about me and my problems killed me. I never wanted her to know about any of my issues; she didn't need the stress. She just needed to get better.

“Whatever is going on, take care of it, ya hear me?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“You have a lot going on, baby. Right now, you are holding the destiny of three lives in the balance. You need to draw on your God-given strength and make it right.”

“I'm not strong like you.”

She gently lifted my head and smiled down at me. “Baby, you are my granddaughter, and a child of God, you can do anything.”

I couldn't help but smile at that. “Thanks, Grammie.”

“You're welcome. Now go downstairs and get yourself a cup of tea.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

After one more hug I made my way to the kitchen. My mother was sitting at the table and sipping a cup of herbal tea. The strong fragrance of cinnamon and spice filled the small room.

“Mama, can I talk to you for a second?”

“Grab a cup and sit with me,” she said, motioning toward the cabinet. At first I thought maybe India told her what happened between Linc and me, but I knew my twin wouldn't sell me out like that.

“What's going on?” she asked, taking a sip of her tea.

I heard the music signaling the start of
SpongeBob SquarePants
coming from the other room. Cameron would be glued to the television for at least another thirty minutes, and that song would be stuck in my head for at least a day.

I swirled the tea around in my cup with my spoon. “I'm thinking about pushing back my wedding date.”

Her eyes went blank for a moment, like she was trying to choose her words wisely. I studied her. Looked for any sign that I need to get up and run for my life.

She set her cup down and spoke. “I try really hard to let you and your sister make your own choices, but Idalis I know something hasn't been right for a long time.” She took a sip of her tea. “I was just wondering how long it was gonna be before you said something.”

I sat back in my seat. “Mama, everything is okay, I just think we need a little more time that's all.”

She shook her head. “No, baby. You haven't had that sparkle in your eyes for a long time.”

I pushed my cup of tea away from me. The cinnamon-flavored concoction was no longer appealing. There wasn't an herbal remedy on the face of the earth that could make me feel better now.

I stood up and grabbed my purse. The best way to deal with my mother was in small, quick doses. I had made a mistake starting it, and now I needed to end this conversation quickly, like ripping off a Band-Aid.

She cleared her throat before speaking. “You're allowing Lincoln to control your life. You already let him come between a lifelong friendship with Trip,” she said as she placed her own cup in the sink. “What's next? You won't be allowed to talk to me?”

I stopped and looked at her, surprised. “Mama, Trip is the one who moved, not me. Linc didn't make him take that job with the DEA.”

She stopped and rested her hands on the stainless-steel bowl and let out a low sigh.

“What?” I asked.

She turned and looked at me. “I just want you to be happy.”

I let out a hard sigh. “Mama, I know. Look, I gotta go. I need to meet India and Dionne at the dress shop in less than an hour.”

“You can deny it all you want. But something is not right, Idalis, and I know it.”

I hugged her. “Bye, Mama.”

I promised her that I would call, kissed Cameron, and headed out the door toward Howell Mill Road. I found myself driving slowly, not in the rush that an excited bride should be in. I felt my phone vibrate and my heart fell into my stomach. I was relieved when I saw India's name flash across the screen.

“What's up, girl?”

I briefly filled her in on what happened at the house.

“Well, you can't be mad at her she's right,” she said, matter-of-factly.

I let out a sigh. “Whatever, Miss California.”

“Oh, so now it's on me?”

I switched lanes, and ignored her question. “Are you there yet?”

“Yeah, I just pulled into the parking lot with Dionne.”

I exited Interstate 75 and caught the light just as I was about to make the right onto Howell Mill.

“I'll be there in a second. Just got off 75.”

I disconnected the call and stared up at the light. The bright red light hypnotized me for a second. Transported me into a world of “what if” and “what could've been.” It was only when the car behind me started blaring its horn that I snapped back to reality.

It was time to turn the corner.

In more ways than one.

Once I made it into the shop, India was already in one of the tiny dressing rooms, which lined the walls, trying on her dress. And Dionne was admiring her cute figure in the row of mirrors lining the room.

“Now, that looks cute on you,” I said.

“Girl, everything looks cute on me,” she said, smiling and twirling around.

I laughed as a short, thin white lady made her way toward me. She had a wide smile plastered on her face and her hand extended.

“You must be Idalis,” she gushed. “Your twin sister is already trying on her dress, and I have yours waiting for you in that end dressing room.”

She motioned toward a much bigger room at the end of the hall. All I could muster was a smile and a weak thank-you as I followed her. I tapped on the door that I knew India was behind.

“I'm here,” I said.

She responded, “I'll be out in a second. And I do look fat in this dress.”

“Don't start, India.”

At the end of the room were two double doors. The hyper woman pushed them open, revealing a much bigger mirror-lined room with a stage framed by a three-step staircase.

Suddenly I felt like the walls were closing in on me and I couldn't breathe. I wanted to turn and run, but she was already ushering me toward a door that had my dress hanging on the outside.

“This is where you can change. And as soon as you're finished, you come on back out and let's take a look.” She smiled even bigger, which I didn't think was possible. “But I already know you're gonna be beautiful!”

I pushed the door back and unhooked my dress. The changing room was huge. There was a pedestal in the middle of the room, and several cushioned chairs and benches lined the walls.

I plopped down on one of the benches, which I was sure had held much happier brides-to-be before me, and let out a sigh. My Coach bag slid off my shoulder and landed on the floor. I stared at myself in the mirror and hugged my plastic covered dress close to my body. I remembered the day I had picked this dress out. I had told India that it was perfect, that it was made just for me. Now I wasn't so sure. It felt more like a prison jumpsuit than the satin and crystal-encrusted happily-ever-after, which it represented.

I slipped out of my jeans and tee. I stood and looked at myself in the mirror. I'd dieted and sweated off nearly fifteen pounds in order for the dress to fit me the way I wanted it to. I smiled at the thought of running into Trip at the gym. Couldn't help but wonder what he was doing and if I was gonna see him again before he left.

“You need help zipping that up?”

I swung around. My sister and Dionne were standing in the doorway. They looked amazing in their short A-line strapless black dresses. The gathered ruffled skirt stopped just above their knees, showing off their legs perfectly. I was so happy they'd listened and brought the black shoes I'd bought them to try on with their bridesmaid dresses. The flash of red from the bottoms of the shoes was the perfect touch. The red accessories I'd picked out were gonna be perfect.

Seeing how beautiful they looked brought tears to my eyes.

I smiled. “Wow, India, you look amazing. You do
not
look fat. Dionne, that dress hits you just right.”

My twin made her way to me and zipped me into my own gown. I stepped back and admired myself in the mirror.

The strapless Maggie Sottero gown's bodice was embroidered with Swarovski crystals, which winked in the room's track lighting. I forced a smile and began playfully putting my hair up, as if trying to decide to wear it up or down. I felt someone straightening out the bottom of my gown. My sister stood back and looked at me. This time it was her turn to have tears in her eyes.

“Oh my goodness Twin, I look beautiful,” she laughed. “I'm just kidding. You look amazing.”

“You do look beautiful, Idalis,” Dionne added.

Their voices snapped me out of my self-induced fairy tale and our eyes met briefly. “Then why don't I feel beautiful?”

“I wish I knew, Twin. I wish I knew,” India whispered. “I do know one thing, though.” She wiped her tears.

I looked down at my dress, tousled the skirt on my gown, and smoothed it out. “What's that?”

She placed her hand under my chin and lifted my face to hers. Her hand went to my makeup-covered bruised cheek. Her fingers touched my face gently before she put her hand down.

“You're running out of time to fix this.”

I turned away from her before the first wave of tears fell.

I admired my glowing silhouette in the mirror.

Suddenly the dress I was wearing was so heavyâit might as well have been made of lead.

BOOK: Between Friends

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